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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28151664">welcome home, theseus</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cacowhistle/pseuds/cacowhistle'>cacowhistle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>ad astra per aspera [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, Plot, Trauma, by someone i mean me i did that i gave tommy a support system, just some good sbi content, we be healing in this household!! someone give tommy a goddamn support system</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:07:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,305</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28151664</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cacowhistle/pseuds/cacowhistle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Put up the white flags, Theseus, and come home to port. Cast your battles aside, Theseus, and rest by the fire.</p><p>You’re safe now, Theseus. The horrors of war can’t touch you here.</p><p>There is a little cottage up north. Tommy is finally beginning to call it home.</p><p>can be read as a standalone fic.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>ad astra per aspera [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060727</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1192</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>welcome home, theseus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy knew this was coming.</p><p>He’s not <em>stupid. </em>He may not think his plans through all the way, but he isn’t a fucking idiot. He’s smart! Far smarter than <em>anyone </em>gives him credit for, in his opinion. He’s capable, and strong, and at least half as skilled in combat as his older brother, and just as confident and brash as his second older brother, if not more so. He’s loud and proud and he’s Tommy <em>fucking </em>Innit, and nothing scares him anymore.</p><p>Or so he thinks, until Technoblade finds his little hideout that he’s carved out beneath the cottage.</p><p>It’s a space he got to call his own, for a short while. Nobody knew where he was and he felt <em>safe, </em>despite the looming danger of Technoblade living above him. He couldn’t be controlled, here, nobody could take things from him, destroy the things he’d worked for.</p><p>But something had tipped his brother off, and now he’s being shoved into a seat at the table on the first floor, and Technoblade looks <em>pissed, </em>and Tommy’s ears are already ringing from phantom explosions haunting his memories, and he just hopes he can cling on tight enough to <em>something </em>he’s worked for so that it doesn’t get ripped away. His hands clench into fists as Technoblade levels him with a glare.</p><p>“The potions. And the pearls. <em>And </em>the gapples,” he snarls, and something about his expression and his tusks is frightening in this light.</p><p>At least, that’s what Tommy tells himself. His hands aren’t shaking for any other reason. They <em>aren’t. </em>He’s already pulling out the stolen items and then some--he sets his diamond tools on the table, the netherite armor, everything on him that he’s worked for. He doesn’t look Technoblade in the eye, and prepares for the hiss of a flint and steel.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he mutters, leaning back and crossing his arms. Technoblade sweeps up the potions, the stolen items, but frowns at Tommy’s other belongings.</p><p>“Take your own shit back, I don’t want it.”</p><p>Tommy hesitates. But… he’d thought…</p><p>… what <em>had </em>he thought? This isn’t Dream. He hesitates, maybe this is a trap--but Technoblade is usually straightforward, there’s no reason for this to be a trap. He still hesitates, but eventually reaches forward and restores his own belongings to his inventory.</p><p>“Sorry,” he says on reflex.</p><p>Technoblade does not respond. That isn’t unusual, he tends to stay silent even when being spoken to directly, but Tommy hates the uncertainty of silence. Tommy glances up, surprised to find Techno just… staring at him.</p><p>He almost apologizes again, but stops himself before he’s even finished inhaling. He doesn’t need to apologize for <em>existing. </em></p><p>… Was that what he’d been doing with Dream?</p><p>“You could’ve just asked to stay here, Tommy.” Technoblade slams the open chest in front of him shut, and Tommy can’t help but flinch.</p><p>“I don’t like you,” he says instead, and Techno sighs.</p><p>“You can take the basement.” His tone does not leave room for argument.</p><p>“I don’t want your shitty basement.” Tommy leans back onto the back legs of the chair. “It smells like dirt and shit.”</p><p>“Your little cave smells worse,” Techno shoots back, and Tommy scowls at him.</p><p>“Does not.”</p><p>“Totally does.”</p><p>“Does <em>not.”</em></p><p>“What on Earth are you two arguin’ about?” Phil’s voice cuts through the room, and Tommy almost falls over backwards, he’s so startled by it. Techno catches the back of his chair.</p><p>“Hey, Phil.” Techno lifts his free hand in a wave. “Tommy’s joining us.”</p><p>“It’s about fucking time,” Phil says.</p><p>“I’m not joining you guys,” Tommy insists, but he knows it’s too late, and he doesn’t quite mean it anyways. “I’m just here to steal shit.”</p><p>“We call that borrowing when you’re part of the Antarctic Empire.” Phil smiles at him.</p><p>Tommy can’t help but smile back. “It’s just you two. That’s a shit empire.”</p><p>“Down with the government,” Technoblade says, pointing a sword at Phil.</p><p>Tommy laughs, at that.</p><p><em>Maybe,</em> he thinks, <em>this won’t be so bad.</em></p>
<hr/><p>Ghostbur begins showing up again.</p><p>Tommy isn’t sure where he went, and Ghostbur doesn’t talk about it. He doesn’t seem to realize he was gone some days, actually, and that’s most concerning. But Tommy doesn’t push it, since he doesn’t want Wilbur to disappear again. He’s already lost him once, he won’t be losing him again.</p><p>He doesn’t confront him about the invitations right away. He’s still hurt, and nervous, and upset about the whole ordeal. But Wilbur is fragile, these days, a particular kind of skittish. The slightest raise in voice, the slightest negative tone, it frightens him away.</p><p>Tommy will admit, he’s angry. He’s hurt. He thought he could trust this new version of Wilbur--he’d been so similar to the older brother he remembered from his childhood.</p><p>This Wilbur didn’t turn him into a soldier.</p><p>This Wilbur didn’t grab him by the shoulders, stare him in the eye, try to convince him of his own paranoia.</p><p>This Wilbur never used his powers on Tommy. <em>Never. </em>Not a single sing-song order left this Wilbur’s mouth.</p><p>He desperately hopes that this remains that way. He misses the old Wilbur. The kind one, the gentler one, the one who knew when to reel things back. The one Tommy could actually <em>trust.</em></p><p>Tommy isn’t sure he can trust Ghostbur. It’s not the old Wilbur. But it isn’t really a better one, either. There are so many versions of Wilbur swimming before his eyes, these days, it’s hard to keep track of which is which. It’s hard to figure out which version they’re on. It’s confusing, and unsettling, and Tommy does not like this uncertainty. He just wants his brother back.</p><p>He’s afraid to ask. But it will haunt him forever if he doesn’t.</p><p>“Ghostbur,” he says, and the ghost in question looks over from where he’s seated in the snow. “do you…”</p><p>He hesitates. He doesn’t know how he wants to ask this. Wilbur just blinks at him. “Do I?”</p><p>Tommy shakes his head. “Do you remember the beach party?”</p><p>Wilbur nods. “Yeah! You had me send out invitations.”</p><p>“... yeah,” Tommy murmurs. Clears his throat. “Yeah. How did that go?”</p><p>“Well, I got to…” Wilbur trails off, frowning slightly. “... Dream. And then he said he would take care of the rest. He told me to go take a walk in the snow, aaaand… now we’re here!”</p><p>Tommy frowns. Major parts of the story have been stripped. He wonders if Wil even remembers the night Tommy got dragged out of the Nether. Wilbur watches him carefully, expression guarded in a way that Tommy thinks is weird on his ghostly brother’s face.</p><p>“... well. There was a bunch of stuff in between. Sad stuff. But we’re here!” Wilbur leans forward. “Why do you ask?”</p><p>Dream.</p><p>Of course it was Dream.</p><p>“No reason,” Tommy says. “No reason at all.”</p>
<hr/><p>Tommy is pretty sure he’s got allergies, or some shit.</p><p>He feels proper <em>weird </em>when he smells the smoke. He starts sweating, and he gets all uncomfortable, and his arms itch under the ever-present bandages that he’s put there specifically to <em>stop </em>himself from itching. He can’t help but pick at them, fingers working their way underneath the fabric, nails tearing at skin until its red and raw.</p><p>He thinks of Wilbur, first, surprisingly.</p><p>The smoke from the fireplace reeks. It curls around him and settles in his nose, the taste coats the inside of his mouth. There’s ash on his tongue and cinders curled around his shoulders, and the fact that the coat he’s wearing reeks of the same scent doesn’t help. He’s surrounded by smoke, in this little cottage, and he can’t hear a word Techno, Phil, and Wilbur are saying. He turns his gaze to the fire instead, content to just stare at it until the others are done talking and he can go to bed.</p><p>They can’t just put out the fire. It’s cold up north, the fire is necessary, but Tommy doesn’t like the sight of the flames. The orange and the heat and the smoke, it reminds him of a ghost that didn’t bother to stick around. The real Wilbur.</p><p>The scary Wilbur.</p><p>The <em>let’s be the bad guys </em>Wilbur and <em>Tommy, you’re scared </em>Wilbur<em>, </em>and <em>let’s blow that motherfucker to smithereens </em>Wilbur<em>, </em>and <em>I want to be your vassal </em>Wilbur and--</p><p>Tommy can’t breathe, suddenly, just <em>thinking </em>about it. The coat burns against his arms, or maybe that’s the scratching he’s been doing, and his chest feels all tight and odd. His eyes burn. Is that normal? That’s not normal, he thinks, he’s pretty sure that means tears are on the way. Or it means he’s staring into the explosions again, watching L’manburg burn, watching Wilbur burn and bleed out on the precipice of glory.</p><p>He realizes as well that the other three are staring at him. He stands up abruptly, shoving away from the couch, stumbling. He catches himself on the back of the closest chair, Phil reaching out to help him. Fingers curl around his wrist and he rips his hand away with the ferocity of prey backed into a corner, gasping for air that he can’t find.</p><p>“I’m going to bed,” he says, unsteadily, and he pulls the coat tighter about his shoulders as he rushes down the hatch into the basement.</p><p>He can’t hear anything past the blood rushing in his ears. He curls up on his bed, pulling the covers over him, burying his nose in Wilbur’s old coat. If he breathes in enough of the smoke, maybe it can smother the memories, taunting him from the back of his mind. Maybe, just maybe, it will choke him, and he won’t have to think about any of it anymore.</p><p>Tommy takes shaky, uneven breaths, doing his best not to think of Wilbur. The only issue with that is that when he doesn’t think of Wilbur and the smoke, he thinks of Dream’s smoke. He thinks of the hiss of TNT, the click of a flint and steel, the prickling heat of the Nether and the burning of the lava as he threw himself over the edge--</p><p>He thinks of Dream’s hands, cruel and cold, wrapping around his wrists and arms and shoulders and throat, cupping his cheeks, ruffling his hair, pushing and shoving and tugging, too similar to how Wilbur handled him at the end, roughly and painfully like he’s nothing more than a tool, an object for them to throw around. He can’t breathe, scrabbling at the phantom fingers darting across his arms. He wants to burn himself so that nothing can touch him again. He wants to strip his skin away, leave nothing but the bones, scrape himself clean so he can never be touched again. He’s shaking, he realizes then, so hard that he thinks he’ll fall if he stands.</p><p>There’s footsteps, suddenly, ringing out louder than his thoughts, than his breathing. He can’t focus, can’t pull himself together enough to flee, to hide.</p><p>There’s a voice, deep and concerned. He can’t make out the words--he thinks he might be saying his name.</p><p>A hand, suddenly, lands on his shoulder. Tommy tenses up, breath catching in the back of his throat, staring off at nothing as he braces himself, prepares for pain. The hand lets go just as abruptly as though he’s stung it, or it’s burned him without meaning to.</p><p>“Tommy.” Techno’s voice breaks through the haze.</p><p>He lets out a devastated little noise, and Techno sighs, softly.</p><p>“Tommy, look at me.” Techno takes him by the shoulders again, gentle this time. Tommy can’t help the scared sound he makes.</p><p>He looks at Technoblade anyways, tries to breathe.</p><p>“Come on, breathe,” Techno says, keeping eye contact.</p><p>Tommy buries his face in Techno’s chest, unable to stop himself from wailing. Techno tenses, but his arms come to wrap around Tommy protectively. They sit there, Techno muttering comforting nothings--he’s never been the best at this, but Tommy appreciates his presence nonetheless--and Tommy releases his grief and fear into Technoblade’s shirt.</p><p>By the time he’s done sobbing, he’s decided they will never speak of this encounter again. It gives him the boldness and confidence to let it continue, though, as Techno brushes the hair back from Tommy’s eyes.</p><p>“So,” he says, “what happened?”</p><p>Tommy doesn’t meet Techno’s gaze. “The smoke.”</p><p>Techno quirks an eyebrow. “The smoke?”</p><p>He’s silent for a long few moments. And then for longer. Technoblade sighs.</p><p>“Okay. How can I help?”</p><p>Tommy blinks, at that. He looks up at Techno, frowning slightly. Help? He doesn’t need anything, he…</p><p>Help. How can Technoblade help. Someone’s offering him <em>help.</em></p><p>He moves to take off the coat, then pauses. He wants to get rid of the smoke. He doesn’t want to get rid of Wilbur. The two are intertwined now, he realizes.</p><p>“I want,” he hesitates. What does he want? When has he ever gotten what he wants?</p><p>Technoblade waits, patient. Inclines his head forward a bit, encouragingly.</p><p>Tommy sniffs. “I need a bath.”</p><p>Techno nods, standing up. Tommy doesn’t let go of his shirt, a <em>don’t go </em>on the tip of his tongue. Techno reaches down to take his hand.</p><p>“Let’s go get some water for you, then.” He gently tugs Tommy to his feet, the two making their way up to the first floor. Phil and Wilbur are nowhere to be seen--Tommy has a sneaking suspicion it’s on purpose, as to not drive him back downstairs.</p><p>Techno leads him to the couch and he settles there, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged, shoulders hunching as he bundles the coat around him. Technoblade grabs a bucket by the door, opening the windows as he goes. Tommy can breathe a little easier, despite the icy cold air, and Techno brings a bucket of snow inside, putting it up above the fire so the snow will melt. Tommy tracks his movement from where he’s seated on the couch, shivering despite the fire. Techno picks something up from one of the chests against the far wall, retrieving a washcloth and a comb. It’s not much, but it’s better than having nothing like he did in Logsteadshire.</p><p>This gentleness, this calmness, he’s not used to it. He can’t remember the last time he was handled this carefully--maybe it had been Phil, back when they were all living in the empire. Tommy makes a little sound at that thought, and he can’t tell if it’s more amused or more devastated at the thought of those simpler times. Techno perks up from where he’s stood by the fire, alarmed, and it almost draws a laugh out of Tommy.</p><p>He just sniffles again, rubbing at his eyes. He buries his nose in the coat--it smells less like smoke, now, and more like Wilbur.</p><p>“We should wash that, while we’re at it.” Techno nods at the coat. Tommy clutches it closer.</p><p>He just shakes his head. “I don’t want to.”</p><p>They’re quiet for a few moments, but then Techno nods, and they leave it at that.</p><p>Exhaustion settles into his bones by the time the snow has melted and the water has warmed enough, and Techno helps him wash his hair, his face, strips the bandages from his arms, cleans old cuts and scabs that have been opened dozens of times over. Days of grime and dirt are scraped away by the washcloth and the water, and Tommy feels ten times lighter by the time they’re done. There’s comfort that comes with cleaning, so much so that he even lets Technoblade work through the mess that is his hair, combing through the tangles and sorting it all out. Tommy is half asleep on the couch by the time Techno is satisfied with his work.</p><p>Tommy doesn’t complain when Techno picks him up like he weighs nothing, just buries himself in his brother’s arms. He ends up in bed, Techno turning to go back upstairs.</p><p>“Techno.” Tommy sits up a bit, and Techno glances over, eyebrows raised.</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“... thanks.”</p><p>Techno actually smiles, at that. Gives him a little nod. “Night.”</p><p>For the first time in weeks, Tommy doesn’t dream of smoke.</p>
<hr/><p>Like all good things in Tommy’s life, the peace does not last long.</p><p>One moment, he’s half-dozing at the table on the first floor, Wilbur humming as he cooks (for Tommy, since he doesn’t need to eat, himself), listening to Technoblade mutter to himself--or maybe the voices, Tommy can never be sure--upstairs. The next, he almost falls out of his chair at a <em>pounding </em>on the door that does not leave any room to be ignored. He and Wilbur stare at each other, the house silent now. Phil is not here to take on the challenge of talking to people from the nearby villages or any wanderers that happen to pass by, and so the siblings will have to pass the role amongst themselves.</p><p>“I’ll get it,” Tommy finally grumbles, and shoves back from the table.</p><p>The <em>what do you want </em>isn’t even halfway out of his mouth when he freezes. There’s nobody there.</p><p>He steps outside, confused, glancing around. There’s a flicker of green in the corner of his eye, disappearing around the side of the house. It could be a creeper, he thinks, nervously. He carefully treads across the snow, peering around the corner, axe materializing in his hand--</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>Frustrated, he spins on his heel, gaze scouring the landscape. He doesn’t see anyone, what the fuck is this? Another flicker of green, and he sprints towards it, swinging around the corner of the house, preparing to swing, only to find--</p><p>Dream.</p><p>He freezes, all words dying in the back of his throat.</p><p>The axe falls to the snow, forgotten in an instant.</p><p>Tommy is being dragged away from the house by the collar of his shirt before he can even think to react. He’s already gasping out an <em>I’m sorry, </em>but Dream is ignoring him. Dream is <em>seething, </em>fingers clenched so tightly around the fabric of Tommy’s shirt that they’ve gone white.</p><p>“After everything I did for you,” Dream begins to say, “you just run off. I’m sick of this, Tommy. You’re never--”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Tommy gasps, and Dream shakes his head.</p><p>“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it.”</p><p>They’re almost to the treeline, now. Tommy wants to shriek, wants to fight back, but he can’t move, can’t <em>think, </em>can’t make himself do anything at all. He closes his eyes tight, tries to make his mind move. He needs--fuck, what does he need? He needs--</p><p>“Get your fucking hands off of him.” Wilbur’s voice rings out across the clearing, louder than a ghast out of Hell. Tommy doesn’t think anything can be <em>louder. </em>His hands, from where they were scrabbling for purchase on Dream’s hoodie, release automatically.</p><p>An arrow sails past the both of them, Wilbur’s words still echoing in Tommy’s skull. Dream lets go of Tommy’s shirt almost robotically. He whirls with his axe and shield drawn.</p><p>Technoblade marches across the snow, Wilbur peering out from the back doorway with his bow and arrow in hand, an expression that Tommy hasn’t seen in a long time on his face. Fury. Tommy’s mind is still catching up with him as Techno wrenches him away from Dream so roughly it’s sure to leave bruises, sword materializing in his hand, baring his tusks.</p><p>“Tommy, get inside,” he says, and Tommy does not hesitate, running back to Wilbur’s side. Wilbur hugs him so tightly it hurts, still glaring out the door at Dream.</p><p>“You come to my home,” Technoblade seethes, taking a dangerous step forward, “and you try to kidnap <em>my </em>brother. You can’t come in here and act like you own the place.”</p><p>“Tommy and I were getting on just fine before you got involved,” Dream says with the air of a man feigning patience. Anyone can see the uneasy twitch of his fingers around the handle of his axe, like he itches to swing it.</p><p>“He isn’t going anywhere,” Techno says, and Tommy knows that it is final.</p><p>“You can’t protect him forever.” Dream lifts his chin.</p><p>Technoblade’s eyes gleam, and he bares his tusks. “I won’t need to.”</p><p>A silence falls over the clearing. Wilbur steps delicately out into the snow, Tommy’s fingers losing purchase on the soft yellow sweater. He huddles in the doorway, staring as his two older brothers face down the no-faced tyrant that has tormented their family for so long.</p><p>“You should leave,” Wilbur says, and it’s so distinctly <em>Wilbur </em>in a way that Tommy hasn’t heard in so long. There’s more color to Wilbur’s face, in this moment, eyes alight with sparks long-gone, echoes of an explosion. Echoes of the worst kind of masterpiece.</p><p>It strikes Tommy that he hasn’t seen Ghostbur angry before.</p><p>“He’s mine,” Dream says, jutting out his chin, and Tommy looks down, face burning red with shame. He’s being fought over like a fucking dog toy, is that what this is?</p><p>“You don’t own people, Dream,” Wilbur says with a cheeriness that is all the more off-putting due to his rage. “He’s his own person, and he can do as he pleases. We don’t want you here.”</p><p>“Leave,” Technoblade snarls, taking another step forward, pointing his sword. “You forget who won, last time.”</p><p>Dream’s lip curls. The silence is tense, heavy. There is no sign of surrender.</p><p>Wilbur’s voice turns dark and dangerous, a lilting, musical sound that demands to be listened to. A sound that Tommy has not heard defending him in a <em>very </em>long time. “Leave. And <em>do not come back.”</em></p><p>Dream leaves.</p><p>Tommy can’t breathe properly until he’s disappeared past the treeline.</p>
<hr/><p>“It’s fucked up, Phil,” Techno says, pacing the length of the room.</p><p>Phil hums in agreement, watching his eldest march back and forth like a caged tiger, hands flexing sporadically. There is a fury settled in Technoblade’s bones, one that Phil is familiar with. A fury fueled by voices and blood and strength, yes, but there is fear and love and good God, there is so much fear. Phil knows the fear of every single one of his sons. Technoblade’s fear is his anger, his fury that leaves him stalking back and forth like a predator on the hunt. Wilbur’s fear is fight or flight, predator and prey all in one, ready to fight or flee if need be. Tommy’s fear is loud, brash, the kind that pretends not to be afraid. <em>Be not afraid, </em>that is the phrase that angels speak when they reveal their true forms. Be not afraid, Phil wants to whisper to his sons in their hours of need. He cannot be the angel that saves them, anymore. They are too old, and too deeply entrenched in this for him to swoop in and carry them safely away.</p><p>“Dream had the audacity to just show up at <em>my house,</em>” Techno snarls, tusks jutting out further. He digs his claws into the back of a chair at the table. “Just tried to take the kid, I don’t even--what if Wilbur hadn’t noticed, Phil? Tommy wasn’t doing <em>anything, </em>Phil, he just froze like a rabbit, I mean, what--what do we do?”</p><p>He doesn’t know. Phil stares out the window at the falling snow. Wilbur and Tommy are down in the basement, doing whatever it is they do when Phil and Techno aren’t around. Phil keeps his voice low anyways when he speaks, not wanting Tommy to know they’re talking about him.</p><p>“What we always do,” he says, looking over to meet Techno’s eyes. “Protect him.”</p><p>Techno stares at him for a few long moments before his shoulders sag and he stares down at the table, miserable. “You should have seen it. It was bad.”</p><p>“I bet,” Phil murmurs, sympathetically.</p><p>“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that scared, Phil.” Techno looks up again, expression set with grim certainty. “And Dream probably isn’t done with him.”</p><p>“We’ll chase him away again.” Phil reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Techno’s ear.</p><p>Techno sighs, sinking down to sit in a chair. Phil crosses to the kettle sitting above the fire, setting to work to make some hot chocolate. It’s the right kind of weather for it, he thinks to himself. He’ll make one for each of them--Wilbur especially will appreciate it.</p><p>His mind tracks back to Wilbur for a moment, then. He’s been odd, recently. A touch quieter, less gentle. More of an observer, more careful. More guarded. That’s the right word--guarded. Phil doesn’t know what happened, but something changed. The air around him is different. He is not a harmless ghost anymore, Phil thinks, staring down at the kettle.</p><p>But a protective spectre is better than a cruel, vengeful one, he supposes. As long as Wilbur and his powers aren’t a danger to Techno or Tommy, Phil is content to watch things play out.</p><p>He just hopes he can save all of them, in the end.</p><p>“Can you talk to Tommy about it?” Techno asks, out of the blue.</p><p>“About Dream?” Phil slides a mug of hot chocolate across the table. Techno takes it without protest.</p><p>“Yeah. He won’t talk to me about it.”</p><p>Phil gazes out the window, brow furrowing.</p><p>“... yeah,” he says, softly. “I can try.”</p><p>Techno nods, looking down at his mug. His voice is ten times softer when he next speaks, and Phil’s heart aches. “I just worry,” he says, almost a whisper.</p><p>Phil sighs. “I know,” he murmurs. “So do I.”</p>
<hr/><p>They’re seated on the little bench Tommy has crafted outside Techno’s house when Ranboo asks.</p><p>“Do you still want it?” He says, voice careful and quiet. Tommy does not look at him, but they both know what Ranboo means.</p><p>He means the lava. The drop, the burning.</p><p>Tommy stares out at the icy tundra. Breathes in. Breathes out. The air does not smell of smoke, here. He is nestled in a fur-lined cape that covers one shoulder, gold and red and blue and white, matching with his brothers and his father. He is content to live and breathe, here, for now.</p><p>“Some days,” Tommy says, measured. Ranboo can tell: he’s nervous.</p><p>“And today?” He is gentle in his words. He will not push it, if Tommy doesn’t want him to.</p><p>Tommy stares, long and hard out at the horizon. Does not speak for so long that Ranboo is afraid he will not say anything else. But then: “A little.”</p><p>Tommy breathes in again. A deep breath in through his nose, out through his mouth. “But never that much.”</p><p>Burn scars line his arms, his chest. Ranboo doesn’t need to see them to know where they are, he saw the burns when he dragged Tommy’s still smoldering body back to Logsteadshire with Fundy. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, and does not think of the burning.</p><p>He hopes that Tommy does the same.</p><p>He opens his eyes. Tommy smiles at him.</p><p>“Let’s go fuck up Techno’s organization system,” he says.</p><p>Ranboo can’t help his fond little grin.</p><p>“Okay,” he says, and that’s that.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s a nice day out. A rarity this far north. More often than not it snows, sleets, hails, any manner of cold, wet weather that forces Tommy inside. He isn’t the biggest fan--all this wide open space, and he can’t even run through it with reckless abandon half of the time.</p><p>Today is a nice day, though, so he lays in the snow and stares up at the clouds going by.</p><p>“Are you dead over there?” Phil’s voice rings out over their little clearing.</p><p>“Yes,” Tommy says, “totally. I’m completely dead. No more lives for me. I’m a ghost now. Ghostinnit. That’s me. Look out, Wilbur, there’s a cooler ghost in town.”</p><p>He hears Phil laugh, and can’t help his pleased little smile. It’s always a victory, an achievement, a prize when he gets Phil to laugh. He hears the snow crunch beneath Phil’s boots, and a shadow passes over him before Phil sits down next to him in the snow.</p><p>“What are you doing out here? You’re gonna freeze to death.”</p><p>“Nature can’t kill me, Phil, get with the program.” He sticks his tongue out. Phil laughs again.</p><p>“Oookay,” he says, and Tommy grins wider.</p><p>They sit there in comfortable quiet for a moment, Tommy’s too tired to bother with antagonizing Phil. He finds that he doesn’t quite want to, anyways--antagonizing his brothers is one thing, but Phil doesn’t deserve that. Phil deserves Tommy’s best behavior.</p><p>… granted, his best behavior isn’t that great, but it’s better than how he treats Technoblade and Wilbur.</p><p>“Tommy,” Phil says, voice gentler than before. Immediately, Tommy is suspicious.</p><p>“... yeah?” He sits up, looking over at Phil. His stomach drops--Phil’s expression is far more serious than he expected.</p><p>“If you ever want to talk about what happened in Logsteadshire…” Phil trails off, then nods. “Or if you just want to talk about anything at all. You know I’ll listen.”</p><p>Tommy is silent. He stares at Phil, brow furrowing, trying to find the right words.</p><p>“... okay,” he finally says, softer than he’s ever been, Phil thinks. “... thank you.”</p><p>Phil smiles, softly, a touch sad. “I’ve always got your back.”</p><p>“And I, yours,” Tommy says, doing his best to mock Technoblade’s typical cadence. Phil barks out a laugh.</p><p>Tommy shifts closer so he can lean on Phil’s shoulder, gazing out over the snowy clearing. He can see Techno and Wilbur through the windows of the cottage, milling about the kitchen--cooking dinner, probably, from the looks of it. It’s just him and Phil out here. It feels safe, and private, and Tommy is not afraid of talking to Phil.</p><p>Phil wraps an arm around his shoulders. Tommy presses his cheek against Phil’s shoulder.</p><p>“I don’t--” Tommy swallows, fingers idly scratching at pockmarked arms. “I think I--I think something happened,” his cheeks heat up, face and ears burning red with shame, “to me, with Dream.”</p><p>Phil is quiet. He lets Tommy speak.</p><p>“Because I--he was, he was my friend, for a little while, and,” Tommy stares off at the horizon, gaze distant. “And--but, but then he wasn’t. My friend. He kept hurting me. And ruining my things. And now I--I feel all weird when I think about it. Because he was--he was the only one who acted like he cared, but--but he didn’t?”</p><p>Tommy does not see it, but there is a fury roiling in Phil’s gut. He will show that masked bastard why he is named the Angel of Death, one of these days.</p><p>“And I don’t,” Tommy sniffs, scrubs at his eyes. “I don’t know if I’m glad I left or not.”</p><p>A silence settles over them, and Tommy lets himself be held as Phil thinks, for a moment.</p><p>“Are you happy here?” Phil asks, softly.</p><p>Tommy nods.</p><p>“And were you happy there?” He turns to look Tommy in the eye. Tommy stares back, eyes wide and brimming with tears.</p><p>It takes a moment.</p><p>Tommy thinks of burning.</p><p>“No,” he breathes, tears spilling over.</p><p>Phil hums sympathetically, pulling Tommy close. They sit there for as long as it takes for Tommy to get it all out, the tears and the anguish and the grief and the relief. They sit there in the snow, Tommy crying his heart out into Phil’s coat. They sit there, and Tommy allows himself some form of release for the first time in a very long time.</p><p>If the others notice his tear-stained face when they return to the cottage, they say nothing.</p><p>For as long as it takes for him to feel safe, Theseus will be welcomed home again and again.</p><p>Smoke drifts up the chimney, and he does not think of burning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading!! if you want updates on my work follow me on tumblr @ cacowhistle!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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